


Back to the Start

by Doyle



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyle/pseuds/Doyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4, post-<i>Doomed</i>. Saving his mortal enemy's mother is not going to do his reputation any favours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to the Start

This might, Spike thought as the demons vanished and he belatedly clocked the fact that he'd just saved someone's life, be the most pathetic thing that had happened to him in, oh, at least the past week. Then the woman turned, face illuminated by the streetlight, and all the competition paled.

Oh, sodding _hell_.

"Thank you," the Slayer's mum stammered, clutching her bag close to her side, one hand fluttering over her hair. "I don't usually stay at the gallery so late, but I lost track of time and…"

"Fine," he said quickly. "Well, trot off home then. Can't have you wandering the streets at this time of night."

But she was already peering at him, recognition coming over her face. "You."

For a moment he imagined she looked scared, and his ego swelled for the first time since he'd woken up with the government's muzzle in his head. Yeah, not so clever without an axe in her hands, was she? He lifted his chin. "Didn't think you'd've forgotten me."

"You're right," she said. "Last year. I remember you crying in my kitchen over an old girlfriend."

Spike deflated.

"How did that work out?"

He sucked in a breath, looking up at the lights and wishing for the sun to miraculously appear; he'd lost Drusilla, he'd lost his bite, he was living in Xander Harris's basement and he was getting sympathy from his mortal enemy's _mother_. "Can't complain," he heard himself say.

"Well, that's good to hear." She shouldered her bag. The smile she gave him was polite, but genuine. "I should be getting home."

_This is what madness feels like_, Spike thought. _Probably only a matter of time till I'm chatting to Dru's pixies and singing to the stars._ "Right. Night. Hope nothing big and scary fancies a bite of you," he added, but only under his breath once she was out of earshot.

After a few minutes he sloped after her, rationalising that if he was going to get any more decent violence that night, the moving human target was one to follow.

He hung back, keeping a good distance, Angelus's poncey sermons about the glory of the hunt providing a running commentary in his head. _Keep yourself downwind, boy, become part of the shadows - you are the thing the night fears, et cetera, I'd love to give you advice that'd be of some use to you, William, but the strain of supporting my immense forehead has caused my brain to atrophy…_

Mocking his mental grandsire absorbed so much of his concentration that he didn't realize they'd reached the Slayer's house until he was almost at the door, all but tripping over the woman he'd been tailing.

"Hello again," Joyce said.

"…thought I should make sure you got home all right," he lied.

She nodded, no suspicion in her expression. "Would you like to come for coffee? Tea?"

Taking tea with the Slayer's mum when he didn't have temporary drunken insanity as excuse. He was already at rock bottom; no need to break out the spades. Anyway, his night was sorted. Lots to do.

Like some aimless wandering as he looked for more demons to beat up.

Like scaring people out of fags and a couple of dollars.

If he was very lucky, Harris's parents would have left some booze out for the swiping.

"What sort of tea?" he mumbled.

**

It was fancy tea, reddish and tasting of cinnamon and apples, sort of thing Darla used to like; Spike didn't much care for it, but the colour was nicely blood-like, even if the taste and texture were worlds away. He thought of asking for blood on the off-chance that the Slayer would have a frozen pint or two left over from the days of the Grand Romance, but decided against it. Wasn't sure if Joyce knew he was a vampire, even.

"You're a vampire," she said.

Of course, maybe she did.

Studying him from across the table, as if she was one of the military's secret scientists - maybe she was, he thought for a mad moment, he hadn't seen all of their faces, and it was always the quiet ones who'd stick a chip in your brain as soon as look at you - her stare was a bit unnerving. He reminded himself he'd eaten thousands of ladies far scarier than Joyce Summers.

"Buffy fights things like you." She folded her hands on the table, long, ringless fingers crossing each other. "I should be worrying about her drinking at frat parties, and instead I'm imagining her fighting for her life, surrounded by…"

"Things like me? Not gonna sic her on me, are you?" He sipped the tea, smacking his lips. Nope, no holy water. "Strange you haven't heard. Thought she would've loved spreading the word. Not a vampire any more."

Joyce stared.

"Oh, I still got the fangs," he said, hearing his voice turn maudlin but unable to stop it, "still allergic to daytime, still got to drink blood, but I'm no vampire." He twisted his fingers against his temple. "Something in my brain, fires if I try to hurt anything that's not a demon."

He was going to have to _tell_ people this, he thought. She was just the first. Once he was over Dru a bit, ready to take a tumble with one of the friendlier girls at Willy's, she'd suggest getting something to eat and then he'd have to explain, and they'd laugh in his face or they'd look at him the way Joyce was now.

Silver linings. He could always rip off a vamp's head.

"Not a vampire," he said again. "Not anything any more."

Neither of them spoke.

Spike shoved back his stool. "Thanks for the tea."

"When Buffy's father and I got divorced…"

"I've _heard_ this story."

"When Hank and I divorced," Joyce said, "I didn't know what I was going to do. All my friends were his friends, and they took his side. My gallery in LA was going under. Buffy had just burned down her school gym…"

"Heard she blew up the school, too. Bit of a firestarter, your girl."

"My point," she said gently, "is that sometimes having to start from nothing's not such a bad thing."

"Right." He fidgeted his cup between his hands. "That was the point, was it?"

She smiled.

"Wasn't a very good one," he complained. "And I don't like this tea."

"Me neither. It was an experiment."

"I should go."

"You probably should."

He'd slung his coat over the counter. He pulled it on, patting down the pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. All present and accounted for.

He hadn't nicked anything from her kitchen, even when she'd gone to answer the phone and he'd had ten minutes by himself to pocket anything he liked. Nothing here worth stealing, he told himself; less embarrassing than thinking that he couldn't afford to get on the wrong side of the Slayer and her pals.

"Spike," Joyce said, as he was almost out the back door. "I don't like vampires."

"I won't take it personally."

"You not being a vampire? It might not be such a terrible thing."

"Oh?"

"But whatever happened to you, if you get it reversed, if you come after my daughter - " she wasn't a tall woman but she drew herself up and he could see Buffy in her, suddenly - "I can still get my hands on an axe." The door was already closing. "Thank you for walking me home. Goodnight, Spike."


End file.
